“Tell me what we had was real, I whisper.”

“You're still trying to protect me. Real or not real," he whispers."Real," I answer. "Because that's what you and I do, protect each other.”

“You can't touch me," I whisper. I'm lying, is what I don't tell him. He can touch me, is what I'll never tell him. Please touch me, is what I want to tell him.”

“I may be furious and sad about what happened with us, but that doesn't make me believe that what we had wasn't real. And it doesn't make me believe that I won't find something that real again.”

“[In my dream] they slide their lips over my skin, whispering whispering whispering. They tell me their names, they tell me their lives, they tell me their pain...I can't struggle, I can't stop laughing, I can't resist these people who once were.”

“Tell me that you want me.” He whispered.“I want you.” Always.“Only me?” “Only you.” Had there ever been anyone else?”